


Feels like freedom

by kate_the_reader



Series: Bob [7]
Category: RocknRolla (2008)
Genre: Fluff, Holidays, M/M, coming home, happiness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-07
Updated: 2017-10-07
Packaged: 2019-01-10 08:13:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12295062
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kate_the_reader/pseuds/kate_the_reader
Summary: Bob has never been abroad, so Dave takes him on holiday.





	Feels like freedom

It’s been another day of runs out to the airport. Bob likes these summer trips, likes the air of holiday anticipation, the nervous excitement; the passengers clutching big sun hats, telling him where they’re headed.

He’s never been abroad.

“Have you been abroad on holiday?” he asks Dave as they eat dinner.

“Yes, a few times.”

“I’ve never.”

Dave knows this, of course. He knows how small Bob’s life has been.

“Would you like to, love?”

“What? I wasn’t asking …” He’s earning his own money again, but Dave still pays the bills. “You don’t have to—”

“Bob, love, what are you talking about?” Dave reaches for his hand. “Where would you like to go on holiday?”

How would he know? He doesn’t know about anywhere. “I don’t know! Somewhere hot.”

“That’s a start. By the seaside?”

The few times he and his Nan and his Mum went away from London it was to the seaside. And he used to like going to the public pool in summer.

“Yeah. A beach.”

“Good, a beach. We'll have a think about where.”

Bob thinks about lying on a sunny, sandy beach with Dave, about rubbing sun cream onto his shoulders, about getting a bit drunk in the heat. About days and days with no work and no traffic, about staying in bed in the mornings. He doesn't care where it is, Dave can decide that. 

They go out with Andy and Peter and their talk turns to holidays. 

“Bob and I are after a sunny beach,” says Dave. 

Andy glances at Peter. “We're going to Thailand. But we have a flat in Sitges. Near Barcelona. You'd love it!” he says. “Great beaches, fantastic food. And gay clubs.”

“Yes,” says Peter, “it'll be empty, you guys should definitely take it.”

“Well,” says Dave, “I thought of Spain. What do you think, love? D’you fancy Spain?” He's got his hand on Bob's thigh under the table and he gives it a squeeze.

“It sounds good,” says Bob and he feels a huge grin stretch his mouth. He's going on holiday. To Spain. With his boyfriend.

*

They’re going to Sitges for 10 days in August, when Dave has a gap between jobs. Bob is nervous to ask for the time off at the car company, but his boss just says: “Where’re you off to, then?”

“A beach. Spain.” Bob can’t help grinning.

“Don’t drink too much sangria,” says his boss.

He applies for a passport — he’s never had one before, never needed one. When he gets the little red book, its empty pages beckon with possibility.

He goes shopping one day when he’s going to be on a night shift. Buys a couple of pairs of shorts and some small red swimming trunks. His skin is very pale. He’s going to look a right English prat. Abroad. It still sounds weird: ‘abroad’. 

His sort didn’t use to go abroad for holidays. One Two has. He didn’t half go on about the clubs in Ibiza. Dancing all night, pulling birds. “Sun and sex, Bobby-boy,” he’d said. “Sun and sex, they can’t get enough.”

Well, Andy said there are gay clubs in Sitges, so maybe they’ll go dancing as well. He hasn’t been dancing since that awful night with One Two. The night everything changed.

Sun and sex. Yeah, there’ll be plenty of both, he’s sure. Mornings in bed with nowhere pressing to be. Of course there’ll be sex. 

Then there’s the day he comes in and almost falls over a suitcase in the hall. Dave’s in the kitchen. “I thought you might need that,” he says, looking over his shoulder when Bob walks through. Bob was thinking he’d put his things in the duffle bag he takes to the gym. He doesn’t quite know what to say, so he just goes over and leans his face against Dave’s shoulder as he stirs whatever he’s making. He carries the case upstairs when he goes to change out of his driving clothes. There’s another one in the bedroom, an older one.

Dave has bought the tickets, they’re going to fly from Heathrow. They could get there on the Tube easily enough, but Bob wants to experience what his passengers do, being driven to the airport. He makes a booking with a different car company though. He doesn’t know the other lads well enough to know what any of them might think if they saw Bob going on holiday with Dave. He’s trying not to care about that, but sometimes it’s just easier not to draw attention.

Andy and Peter come round for dinner on Saturday to give them the keys to the Sitges flat. 

Andy hands Dave a bottle of champagne when they arrive. “We thought we should celebrate holidays,” Peter says. “You’ll love Sitges. But you must go into Barcelona as well. Look at some Gaudí buildings. You’ll appreciate them, Dave, as someone who’s interested in architecture.”

“I’m just a builder,” says Dave.

“Nonsense. I know houses, and what you do is beyond just building.”

Dave blushes a bit and smiles and Bob can’t resist leaning over to kiss him.

It’s a warm, clear evening and they sit on the terrace drinking the champagne. It’s the first time he and Dave have had people round. It’s the first time Bob has ever done this, had people round for a meal. Dave has roasted a chicken with lemons inside. “Up its bum!” he’d said, to make Bob giggle. The roast potatoes are proper English though.

Finally, it’s the night before they leave. Their flight is in the early morning and they are packing in the bedroom — their bedroom — their cases open on opposite sides of the bed. Dave sees him put the red trunks in his case. “I like those,” he says, “can’t wait to see you on the beach in them.”

“I hope I get a tan,” says Bob.

“Mmm.”

When they’ve finished, Dave sets an alarm and they get into bed. It’s stupid to be as excited as he is. It’s just a holiday at the beach, in Spain. Millions of people do this every day. He slides down the bed a bit so he can tuck his head under Dave’s chin. “Thank you,” he says.

“Oh love.” Dave’s rubbing his back and even though Bob thought he might not fall asleep, he does.

The trip out to Heathrow is familiar, but it feels weird to be the one in the backseat, and to have the driver go round to the boot and get their cases out. “Have a good time,” he says, as Bob pays and tips him. “Cheers, mate!” 

And then they’re walking into the terminal, busy with early morning travellers, lots carrying big sunhats, also heading for beaches, getting away from the London drizzle. When they hand their passports to the woman at security, he wonders if she can tell it’s Bob’s first time going anywhere, with his brand-new crisp passport. On the plane, Dave makes him take the seat by the window. He can’t help reaching for his hand as the plane speeds down the runway and takes off, making his stomach lurch, and making Dave grin at him. He looks out of the window at London spread like a toy town beneath them, then fields and motorways, smaller and smaller. He feels like a kid, but in a good way. 

In hardly any time the captain announces that they’re about to land and then they’re there, in another country. The man at the desk says: “Bienvenidos a España!” as he stamps their passports. Bob is a bit worried when he doesn’t see his case on the carousel, but then it comes round and he grabs it and Dave’s and they walk out of the terminal. The sun is bright, the air is hot and the sky is a dark blue. They get a taxi. Bob looks out the window at the brown grass and the unfamiliar trees and then the road is winding along by the shore and the sea fills the view. They’re on holiday in _Spain_.

The flat is in a narrow street, up two flights of stairs. The floor is tiled and there is a small balcony off the sitting room. The bed is huge. 

“Shall we go to the beach?” says Dave. “I’ve been looking forward to those trunks all morning, you know.”

But Bob can’t help it, he crowds into Dave’s space and kisses him hard, and pushes him down on the bed and crawls up over him and Dave laughs and pulls his face down and they kiss for a long time and then Bob unbuttons Dave’s shirt and pushes it off his shoulders and kneels up and pulls off his own shirt and leans down to undo Dave’s jeans. Dave groans and raises his hips and Bob pulls his jeans down and his pants. “I do want to go to the beach,” he says, “but I want this first.”

Dave’s hands are on Bob’s hips, but he takes them and pushes them up over his head and kisses his way down Dave’s chest. The hair there tickles his nose a bit and a laugh bubbles up and Dave laughs too and pushes his hand into Bob’s hair and then Bob shuffles further down the bed. Dave’s not fully hard yet, and Bob loves this, loves feeling Dave’s cock fill his mouth as he sucks him. It’s never as if Dave is holding him down, but his hand, pulling his hair a bit, feels fantastic. He trails his hands up the inside of Dave’s thighs, feeling the tremors there, and wraps one round the base of his cock, hot and thick now. Dave’s back arches off the bed and his other hand is scrabbling at the covers and he tenses, that long moment just before Bob pushes him right over the edge, and he knows by now that Bob won’t pull off, he’s stopped trying to make him, and Bob swallows and swallows and Dave gasps, and laughs again. “Ah, love …” he sighs, and Bob pulls away and rests his face on Dave’s thigh, breathing in the rich, sharp smell of him. Sunshine is falling across his back in a hot stripe. 

Dave reaches down and cups Bob’s cheek. “Come here, love,” he says. So Bob crawls up over him again and lets Dave undo his jeans and flip him over on his back and Dave kisses him, screwing up his face a bit at the taste of his own come on Bob’s tongue. He lifts his hips, lets Dave undress him. He leans up on his elbows waiting to see what Dave will want to do. Bob’s eager for whatever he decides. Dave pushes his knees up and keeps his eyes fixed on Bob as he kisses the inside of first one knee and then the other. And that shouldn’t feel as good as it does, but _fuck_ , it does. Dave always does this, however he touches Bob, he looks at him, looks into him, he couldn’t close his eyes even if he wanted to. He used to want to. He doesn’t anymore. Dave keeps mouthing his way up the inside of Bob’s thighs, until high up, right at the crease of his groin, he sucks a hot, claiming bruise and the thought that he’s going to be on the beach in his small red trunks with that only just hidden … pushes everything else out of his head and he drops his head back as Dave takes his cock in his hand and slides his mouth slowly down his length. He keeps his other hand on Bob’s hip and Bob puts his own hand over it and holds on, floating on sensation. They have both learnt so much about pleasure — giving, receiving, taking — how good it is with someone you trust, someone you know and who knows you. Bob’s release is building, his toes curling, his back arching, his hips twitching under Dave’s hand. Dave knows when to back off, but Bob grips his hand even tighter in warning, and he’s panting, gasping, and Dave doesn't pull back … and Bob can’t go anywhere and he comes and then Dave does lift his head and Bob comes on his chest. He reaches up, wipes his thumb across Dave’s mouth.

“Fuck, sorry!”

Dave catches his hand. “Don’t be sorry.”

“But you—”

“I know. I got lost.” He flops down on his back. He’s smiling.

Bob gets up, goes to the bathroom and wets a facecloth, comes back and wipes Dave clean, and himself. And he can't resist kissing him, tasting himself in Dave’s mouth. He gets back on the bed with him and the hot, still air dries their damp skin. He tangles his feet with Dave’s. They’re both still wearing their socks. They fall asleep, the unfamiliar sounds of the town drifting up, footsteps and voices, seagulls and in the distance, a train.

Feeling too hot is what wakes him, his skin sweaty where he lies against Dave’s side. Dave’s already awake, looking down at Bob. He runs the back of his hand down Bob’s face and Bob turns into the touch, sucking at his fingers. Then Dave sits up, swings his feet off the bed. “Let’s go out now. Get some food, and a drink?”

“Can we still have a swim?” 

“Shower first,” Dave says, wrinkling his nose. The smell of sex is thick in the hot air. Bob likes it, but they better get cleaned up. 

After he towels off, Bob puts on the red trunks, wincing a bit as he covers the throbbing bruise Dave put there, and then pulls shorts over them. Dave grins at him and puts on his own shorts. His legs look amazing. When he first met Dave, Bob thought he was hot, for an older guy. Now he just thinks he’s hot.

Dave gets two gaudy beach towels out of the airing cupboard where Andy said they’d be and sticks some money in his pocket and they go downstairs, their shoulders bumping in the narrow space. It’s very hot and still outside. 

“Siesta,” says Dave, “everyone’s inside.” They walk along the shady side of the street. There are window boxes of bright red flowers on all the houses and the street names are written on tiles stuck to the sides of buildings. A small skinny cat slinks down a gap between two houses. Then they turn a corner and the sea is sparkling at the end of the street.

“Swim first, then food? Nothing will be open for a while,” says Dave.

“Really?”

“Yeah, pretty much, everyone goes home for lunch and a sleep afterwards. It’s great, actually.”

“Fuck, I’m starving, though.”

Dave laughs. “I’ll get you an ice cream.”

Being on holiday is a bit like being a kid again. Except for the bits that aren’t. 

They walk down the street towards the beach. There are two gay beaches, Andy told them. This one right in town, the other far out along the shore. That’s the nude beach. Maybe they’ll go there — when they aren’t so pale.

There are a couple of steps down to the beach. Bob pulls his trainers off and walks out onto the hot sand, wriggling his toes in it. Dave’s pulling off his own shoes and he steps out onto the sand too and Bob grabs his hand. There aren’t many people on the beach, but they’re all men. An older man sits at a little table under an umbrella. “Shall we get beach chairs?” says Dave.

“Can we just swim?”

There is a changing room backed up to the seawall, with lockers for your things. Dave gives Bob the key on a chain and he hangs it round his neck and they walk down to the edge of the sea, the sun burning his shoulders. He used to really like swimming when he was a lad, but he hasn’t done it much lately. There aren’t any waves, but the water is clear and cool and they wade out till it’s deep enough to swim and Bob dives under and swims a few strokes and then he turns on his back and looks over at Dave and he knows he probably looks really stupid but he can’t stop grinning. He’s swimming at a gay beach in Spain with his boyfriend. “Fuck you, One Two,” he thinks, briefly, but he doesn’t feel any real anger. He stands back up, knowing the wet trunks are showing off his arse, and Dave laughs and Bob is purely happy.

After a bit they walk back up to the changeroom and dry off and then they sit on the sand on their towels till Bob can no longer ignore how hungry he is. “Aren’t you starving?” he says. 

“Yes, let’s go find some tapas,” says Dave, “You’ll like it.” 

So they get dressed and walk back up into the town to the pub Peter said is the best, Parrots. There’s a terrace, and everyone is wearing shorts and drinking beer, eating little plates of snacks. “You can buy me an ice cream tomorrow,” he tells Dave.

“Oh I can?”

He drops his voice: “Yeah. I’ll give you a lick too.” He slips his foot out of his trainer and rubs it up Dave’s calf under the table. Dave smiles. 

When they’ve had a couple of beers and eaten enough so he thinks he can last till dinner (“Ten o’clock,” Dave says) they walk back up to the flat to shower the salt off and change.

In the shower, he leans up to kiss Dave. “Thank you,” he says. “It’s very nice, being abroad. With my boyfriend.”

“Yes, it is, love.”

They get dressed and walk back into the town centre and go to another bar, an ordinary one, where they can’t be too obvious, but that’s okay. Finally, Dave says it’s late enough to go and get dinner and they stroll along next to the sea to a place Andy and Peter told them about, where the food is delicious, but Bob can hardly keep his eyes open.

“We’ll sleep in, and have a proper siesta tomorrow,” says Dave, and Bob thinks that will be a very good way to spend the day. In bed with Dave.

*

Bob could spend every day just sleeping and fucking and swimming and eating and drinking. Walking round the town, up and down the narrow streets in the heat, looking in little shops. Watching all the men. They’re seeing Bob as well. It feels good to have appreciative eyes on him. He knows he looks good, especially when after couple of days his skin is less pale. He doesn't care about their appreciation, really. It’s Dave’s eyes he relishes, when they rest on him, on the beach, across a cafe table, in bed; Dave’s touch he craves and leans into. But having his body noticed does feel good. It feels like freedom, to be able to walk around and know he’s being looked at but not judged. 

He tells Dave, as they lie under the slowly turning ceiling fan in the afternoon, sweat cooling on their bodies.

“I like it on the beach, when fit guys look at me. Do you mind?” He turns to look at Dave. “I like it when they see you, too. I can see them thinking, ‘He’s hot’. I like that, and I think: ‘He’s hot and I’m with him.’ Feels great, that.”

“Bob!” says Dave, blushing. “But yeah, it feels good. It’s relaxing, not needing to be careful all the time.”

“Yeah. And not being so different.”

“And I’m not jealous when other guys look at you. I like that too.”

“Good. Because it’s only looking. You know that? I don’t want them or anything.” He rolls on top of Dave then and they kiss for a long time, nipping and sucking and tasting, and laughing.

Bob wouldn’t mind just doing this for all ten of their days of holiday, but Andy and Peter said they’d like Barcelona too, so they decide to go in on the train one day. Dave reads the guidebook in the sitting room and decides which sights they should look at. There’s a section on that architect Peter mentioned, Gaudí. Dave shows him the pictures. Weird swooping shapes, buildings that look like something in a book of fairy stories. And Dave reads about a huge food market that he says sounds great.

They catch the train into the city early in the morning and head for the food market. Bob has never seen so many different types of fruit and vegetables and fish and crabs and lobsters. It’s loud among the stalls, with cooks and housewives and tourists jostling and the sharp smell of seafood everywhere. He doesn’t care about food the way Dave does, but Dave’s enthusiasm is catching and they eat a huge omelette at a stall and drink coffee.

Afterwards they walk through the city along wide streets lined with trees and go to the Gaudí house, Casa Batlló. It’s even weirder on the inside than the pictures showed and Bob’s not sure what to think — it’s not like a house for humans — but Dave loves it, and then they climb all the way up to the attic and it’s quiet up there and plainer and white with curved arches and that is Dave’s favourite bit and Bob can see why. It’s calm and clean —like home. Bob watches Dave enjoying the peace up there and he can’t quite believe that it reminds him of _his home._

He can’t _show_ Dave how much that means, here among the other tourists, but he whispers it: “It’s calm, like home” and Dave turns to him and just smiles, so soft, that Bob knows Dave knows what he is thinking.

After they have finished looking at the house, they walk back into the busy streets, which aren’t like London at all. They’re wide and lined with trees and there aren’t really any tall buildings. They see a few more weird Gaudí buildings but they don’t go in. Bob’s never really done this, walked around just looking at buildings. They walk up and up and the streets get narrower and steeper and they have lunch in a little square lined with trees. At the next table are two men in suits, businessmen with briefcases, and then the one reaches across the table and takes the other’s hand and Bob sees they are both wearing wedding rings and he can’t help smiling at them — and reaching for Dave’s hand too and Dave smiles at him in that soft way that puts a lump in Bob’s throat. When they walk on, Bob spies a tiny alleyway and he steers Dave into it and stretches up and kisses him. Daves slaps him on the bum and they walk on laughing. Bob can’t wait to get Dave back on the huge bed in the flat. Tomorrow they’ll stay in all day.

And just like that it’s the day before they are leaving. They are both tanned and Bob feels like his muscles are relaxed as they have never been before, all the tension gone, that he didn’t even realise was there. It’s not real life, but it’s not just a dream. It is a real place, and they could come back here, or go somewhere else on holiday.

They go to the pub one last time. The crowd is even bigger than usual and the music is louder and when they go inside, Bob sees why. There’s a tiny stage set up in the back corner and a flamboyant drag queen is singing “I Need a Man” and everyone is whooping. Bob goes to the bar to get their drinks and looks around for Dave. The only free table was right next to the stage and Dave is there, so he squeezes through the crowd, brushing against guys as he goes, and quite a few people give him a quick grope. He’s a bit of out breath when he gets to the table and puts the drinks down and then the drag queen steps down from the stage and comes right up to Bob and runs their hand down his chest, leering comically, and Bob is blushing so much he feels like his face is on fire and Dave is laughing and everyone in the bar goes “Oooohhhhhh!” and Bob shimmies a bit awkwardly and the crowd roars and Bob is grinning as he sits down and takes a drink and Dave leans across the table and kisses him and all the guys groan as if they are disappointed and everyone laughs. 

Later, after more drinks, and dinner and a walk along the beach in the warm dark, he says to Dave, “Shall we go dancing? I want to dance with you in a gay club.”

Dave laughs. “I haven’t been clubbing for years and years, but I would love to dance with you.”

Bob has told him about dancing with One Two. Trying to dance with One Two. He was right, Bob’s not much of a dancer, but he wants to dance with Dave. 

They go to the smallest of the clubs, the one Peter said they prefer. It’s a bit early, really, but they can't stay out all night. The dance floor isn't very full, and the music isn't cranked up that loud. He pulls Dave onto the floor and then they’re dancing. Dave spins him round and pulls Bob up against him, hands on his hips, and they fit together. Dave brings his arm up, across Bob’s chest. Bob tilts his head, inviting, and Dave kisses his neck and Bob grinds back against Dave. Then the music changes, a much slower song, and Bob turns around and stays pressed up against Dave and pulls him even closer, his hands on Dave’s arse, and he lays his head against Dave’s chest, his nose just brushing his skin where his shirt buttons are open. Dave has one hand at the small of Bob’s back and the other on his arse, his chin resting lightly on the top of Bob’s head. Bob floats, almost in a dream. When the song ends, he tips his face up and kisses Dave, still in daze of pleasure. “I love you,” he whispers.

They go back to the flat then, but they don't get very much sleep, even though they have to be up early.

In the plane in the next day, he flips the armrest up and leans his head on Dave’s shoulder and the cabin attendant smiles at them.

They get the Tube home from the airport and walk from the station. It’s been raining and the trees are dripping and the street is shining in the weak sun. Bob stands close to Dave as he unlocks the front door and they step into the hall and he drops the handle of his case and presses Dave against the door and kisses him. 

“Thank you for taking me on holiday,” he says, and takes Dave’s hand and pulls him up the stairs and into the bedroom and kisses him again and steers him to the bed and pushes him down on _their_ bed. “But it’s nice to be home as well,” he says. Dave smiles at him and Bob is purely happy.

**Author's Note:**

> Casa Batlló is really amazing, [here are some pictures.](https://www.google.co.za/search?q=casa+batllo+interior&source=lnms&tbm=isch&sa=X&ved=0ahUKEwitj_Kdp9_WAhVZGsAKHTH5DXkQ_AUICigB&biw=1366&bih=637)


End file.
